Since I enjoy revealing very little, I think I’ll play it safe here and plagiarize my
own logline:

"Canswer: Stranded together on an industrial rooftop in the midst of a global pandemic,
strangers Cillian and Ellen battle starvation, dehydration, and each other."

Your sources of inspiration when writing Canswer
- and since cancer is one of the main topics of your film, any personal
experiences with the disease or the like connected to this?

How ironic that you should ask
this question and here I am typing my response
while sitting on the very same
side of the very same couch in which I received the
phone call.

Now, which phone call am I
referring to? And why a couch?

Well, it was Saturday,
December 31, 2011 (I remember this for two reasons: 1.
New Year’s Eve is quite
possibly one of the easiest dates to recall [unless you’re
intoxicated], and 2. the
calendar on my laptop can trace dates all the way back to
the 1800’s). I had just
returned home from a very long and very boring day at
work, which, as is
unfortunately the case with most indie filmmakers, has nothing
at to do with film in any
capacity. As tired as I was, I, very much like the
“zombies” that would later
appear in Cansweronly
five months later, walked
through the door and collapsed
onto the couch. And I just sat there. And sat there
some more. And some more.

I’m not much of a party
animal to begin with, and with work in the way of most
possible plans for that
evening I might’ve had with friends, I didn’t really feel
like doing very much. And
that’s when my phone rang. I looked at the screen
and saw that it was my mom who
was calling. Naturally, I picked up. All I could
say was the clichéd
“hello” before I was greeted with a loud and garbled “…we’re
downtown… …come here…
…hope to see you… …love you…” Then the
dial tone. I tried calling
back, but my mom wasn’t picking up. I tried my uncle
who was with her – nothing!
I looked at the phone’s clock: it was a couple of
hours before the big
countdown. Fatigue and laziness battled my underlying want
to just go out and meet up
with my family downtown. Finally, my want won!

The subway station is not too
far from where I live, and from there, it’s only a few stops to the core of the city
and where the biggest New Year’s Eve party was taking place: none other than
Nathan Philips Square, which is our City Hall. The
subway cars were completely
packed! People were coming and going, dressed up
for parties, bleary-eyed from
partying too much and continuing to party too much,
and this is when I had a
sudden image of someone projectile vomiting on me (this
is actually always a funny
detail in my family, especially among my siblings; I
have this thing – perhaps a
tick – where, if someone tells me that they or someone they knew was sick or partied
too much, I would ask if they vomited; it’s my
personal gauge/measurement of
how sick they are). Lucky for me, nobody
vomited on anyone. In the end,
I could only endure a few subway stops of
alcohol breath and the pace of
a train that could have been out-crawled by a
toddler. I’m a walker,
anyway (no pun intended, honestly). And so I speed-walked through several city
blocks to get to my family. But doing so was no easy
task. The crowds were fun and
rowdy, becoming more and more dense as I
navigated my way towards City
Hall. How I was ever going to find my family
was beyond me!

I got on the phone, dialed my
mom and then my uncle, each time reminding me of
how I failed to reach them
earlier from my couch (which I was starting to miss).
But it’s “try, and then
try again,” right? “Alfredo!” I heard on the other end of the
line. My mom sounded so far
away and we were more than likely not even half a
football field away from each
other. In between her chopped up directions and
my constant “don’t hang
up”’s, we connected, “we” being my mom, sister and her
boyfriend, uncle and two
younger cousins.
And here’s where things
started to take a toll on my creative mind. Like most
creatives – hopefully – I
tend to drift. Yes, I recognize that I’m, in this case, at a
party, but my mind thinks
“okay, I get that I’m at a party, now what?” The
answer to this and similar
questions in similar circumstances is to start to find a
way to look at the situation,
event, or other, in a creative way. I’m not a prude, I
just started to look around
and think about things and draw comparisons, usually
to movies. For example, the
fact that my family and I were mildly struggling to
find each other in the midst
of a mass of people, finally connecting, and now
standing in the cold with
nothing but the shirts on our backs reminded me an
awful lot of Tom Cruise and
his family in the movie War of the Worlds,
particularly the ferryboat
scene. Another example is when I began to look around
at all of the tall buildings
and imagined seeing the alien from
Cloverfield
wrecking havoc; what would I
do?; where would I go? Say what you will, but it’s
fun.

The hosts of the New Year’s
Eve party huddled on stage and signaled the last
minute of the year 2011.
Thousands of people began to push forward as if doing
so would make any sort of
difference to their personal enjoyment. It was at this
point that I was separated
from my family, with only my youngest cousin, then
seven years old, by my side.
Poor guy was going to get swallowed by the mob in
no time, but not on my watch.
I grabbed his hand, cared not that I was most likely
reshaping the bone structure
in his tiny hand, and held on.
Thirty seconds to 2011.
The crowd pushed even more
violently. I was literally twisted ninety degrees,
facing away from the stage.
I’m not prone to claustrophobia, but it just seemed
natural to look up at the
sky… the open sky. Instead, I saw the massive hotel that
oversees Nathan Philips
Square, and all of the miniature figures that were people
watching safe and sound and
comfortable from their windows.

Three…

I was losing grip…

Two…

Only fingers now…

One…

I lost him!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

My poor cousin rung in 2011
facing the backs of strangers’ legs… wherever he
was. Everyone’s hugging,
kissing, and carrying on, and I’m fighting through their
private/public celebrations,
searching for my cousin. There are two types of kids
in this situation: the kid who
remains calm, whether or not because he/she is
aware of what’s going on,
and the kid who freaks out, whether or not because
he/she is aware of what’s
going on. As it turns out, my cousin was the former and
I was the latter. Standing off
to the side, not too far from where I lost him, I took
back his hand as if it were
more mine than his, and we waited until the crowd
started to disperse before we
started to search for the rest of our family.
Eventually, we all reunited
and started the long walk to the subway station, which,
like my drifting, creative
mind helped remind me, felt a lot like a modern
reenactment of the slaves
leaving Egypt in
The Ten
Commandments.

And that vomiting I had
mentioned earlier? Well, that overweight guy barely
supported by his just-as-drunk
friends? Vomit! That cute girl in those incredibly
high heels, which gave her the
gait of a newborn colt? Vomit! That guy with a
hematoma from either a fight
and/or a previous hard fall against something
equally hard? Vomit! Though he
had some impressive distance (and each time I
walk by the front entrance to
that particular Best Buy, I can’t help but think about
what everyone – myself
included – am walking on or over). It seemed like every
other nook and store entrance
celebrated a vomit party that I just – thankfully –
missed. In the midst of all of
this regurgitation, I couldn’t help but think about
scenes from
28 Days Later
and
how this amount of people, the density, the chaos,
the vomiting… how this
could’ve been what we didn’t see in the film, what
would’ve been the
1 Day Later
or
13 Days Later
stories.
The wheels were turning (I
mean, they always are, but they were burning rubber
now). The calm at home traded
in for the chaos downtown. The search and
eventual reunion with family.
The dense crowds. The people, safe and sound
up
in their hotel, looking
down upon me and
several thousands. The projectile
vomiting.

Yes, the wheels were
definitely turning!

We finally made it to the
subway station, and, as is usually the case when I’m
beginning to formulate a
completely brand new idea (or trying to fill in the blanks
of an existing idea), I
shutout the world around me. I could only see the scenes I
just lived, but as a movie. I
could only hear the scenes I just lived, but as a movie.
But as much as I lived those
scenes from the ground level, I was curious about
what they might look like up
high from the perspective of…

Ding! Dang! Dong!

The subway chime. It was my
stop. I was going to grab something to eat with
my family, but I decided that
the fragmented scenes and garbled dialogue I had
flashing and echoing through
my head were much too important to be forgotten,
and so I needed to go home and
write them down. I said my farewells, started to
step off of the train, and
thanks to a few drunks for which the subway operator
needed to make sure were clear
off the train before closing the doors, I had just
enough time to turn around and
ask my uncle an important – no, essential! –
question in order for my idea
to be fully realized: “What’s your body shop’s
rooftop look like?”
He knew it! I definitely knew
it! Another film was coming to his body shop.
And I already had a title for
it, and while I’m not a fan of single-word titles –
another tick – I felt that
this title was clever and meaningful enough that I could
circumvent my tick. Thus, I
went home, typed out a few notes, and,
prompted to “Save,” typed
in…

…
C…
…
A…
…
N…
…
S…
…
W…
…
E…
…
R…

As far as personal
experiences are concerned, I will simply and proudly say that
my Zia is a victor of breast
cancer. Conversely, my Nonno Salvatore Arcilesi,
had been diagnosed with three
forms of cancer. Given mere months to live, he
managed to put up a fight for
several more months, and well beyond his eighty
third birthday. Without him
(and my Nonna, of course), I wouldn’t have my
mom, who wouldn’t have had
me. Without him, a clever mechanic for several
decades, I wouldn’t have had
a body shop rooftop with which to make the film
that, sadly, he would never
see.
But make no mistake, each and
every one of us has either personally battled one
or more cancers either once or
more than once and/or know or have known at
least one person who has
fought the battle. It is a very sad truth that cancer lives
within each of us.

Of
the two characters that make up Canswer's
cast of characters, who do you identify with more, actually?

I feel strongly that each
character ever written by any writer has either a major or
minor piece of them within the
confines of that character. Writer or not, each and
every single one of us has
many sides, many faces, and it only makes sense that,
especially for writers, we
address, identify, and explore those many sides and
faces.
I’ve always viewed my roster
of characters from all of my films put
together as tenants in an
apartment building; I am the apartment building and they
dwell within me, and, much
like in a real apartment building, certain characters
(or people) see each other and
interact fleetingly, in most cases in the laundry
room or elevator. Well, as far
as Canswer is
concerned, the rooftop is that
laundry room or elevator, and
Cillian and Ellen, whom have both lived in my
“apartment building” for
years, have finally been addressed, identified, and
explored, and we’re all
meeting for the very first time. From there, we all begin
to explore each other.

Sarah Cunningham’s
character, Ellen, also has several of my traits: quiet;
introverted; mysterious;
wandering; explorative; curious; constantly searching for
meaning; unsure of her purpose in life; and so
on.

Despite
Canswer being a zombie
film by definition, the zombies are probably shown for less than a minute
- so what can you tell us about your special approach to the genre, and
what are your thoughts about the zombie genre and where it's heading to as
such?

You may have noticed that
I’ve placed quotation marks around the term
“zombies” in my response
to Question #2. Reason being is that I have never felt
that “the infected” were
“zombies” to begin with. Much like the infected in
28 Days Later,
these
people are suffering. They’re not governed by any supernatural
or inexplicable force, and
they’re most certainly not on the prowl for brains or any
specific anatomy. To be as
vague and informative as I can simultaneously be, like
cancer cells (and other
diseases, viruses, bacteria, etc), their objective is to
multiply and to survive until
both objectives are no longer possible.
I am a huge fan of the zombie
subgenre. My very first exposure to anything
having to do with zombies was
thanks to either my grandfather or my uncle. I
can’t quite remember who
bought me the
Michael
Jackson’s Thriller,
complete with the making-of
documentary, but I will fully admit that I would
always hesitate to peer out of
my grandfather’s living room, bedroom, backyard,
or any other window for fear
of catching a glimpse of a zombie.
I’ve mentioned the title a
few times now, and so I can safely say that 28 Days Later
capitalized
upon my preexistent interest in zombies, and made it… organic.
Much like how the fantastic
District 9
illustrated
a very possible alien
invasion/contact scenario,
which also inspired my previous For
Clearer Skies,
it
was 28 Days Later that
took the supernatural and exploitative and put it
right in your own backyard.

I don’t watch TV, but I have
caught episodes of
The Walking Dead
long
after I
had shot Canswer,
and
I can honestly say that that is a fairly decent avenue for
the zombie subgenre to travel
(or shuffle, if you’re a zombie!). Zombies are fun
in any format (movies, video
games, other paraphernalia) and universal. Anyone
can be one, and almost anyone
can kill one. While I’m not suggesting a “zombies
in space” film (does that
exist?), I’m interested in placing zombies, which are so
incredibly
recognizable/identifiable, in different scenarios, environments, and
ideologies. And I would do –
have done in the case of aliens - the same for
vampires, werewolves, witches,
warlocks, and whatever other embedded fictional
culture exists.

How would you describe your movie's look and feel?

When I was writing my third
film, Scent of Rosemary,
a
story about three
pedophiles, one of which faces
most likely some of the most poignant karma a
creative mind could conjure
up, I had to devise a way in which two of the
pedophiles were describing a
video of a child they were watching. Now, I
obviously have never in my
life seen any child pornography; therefore, how do I
really know what to describe?
And how would I write that dialogue? Well, I
simply wrote the dialogue as
if I were describing my favourite film. In other
words, the enthusiasm
portrayed by the two characters for the subject matter was
the same as it was for my
favourite film, however, it was the subject matter and its
context that was different.
I applied this method to the
visualization of Canswer.
I
knew that the film
contained a strong
“zombie” element, but didn’t want to fall into any visual genre
clichés. Almost with any
genre of film, you can see where the writer and/or
producer and/or director
literally ticked off an item or detail from their checklist.
I didn’t have any checklist.

I knew that the film was about
two people stranded on a rooftop, much like a pair
marooned on an island. I knew
that it wouldn’t be enough to simply say or show,
to a limited degree, that they
are stuck, that life through their eyes is boring, that
waiting is boring, that
waiting to live or most likely die is boring; but to allow the
camera, the cinematography to
accent and underscore that boredom. In this line
of thinking, the camera is
simply an extension of each of the characters, trudging
from one scene to the next,
waiting…
There is a perpetual
lingering, a sense of yearning, a sense of longing, a sense of
underlying tension that may or
may not come; this is what the camera does. One
inspiration is Gus Van
Sant’s
Gerry,
a
film about two young men both named
Gerry,
played
by Matt Damon and Casey Affleck. They find themselves lost in
the desert and have nothing
but themselves to rely upon. It is in this spirit that Canswer
was
derived.

I am proud that with each of
my productions, and Canswer
is
no exception,
has developed its own visual
language. And like verbal languages, the film’s
survival will solely be just a
matter of whether or not the audience is willing to
truly watch and listen.

Do
talk about Canswer's
location for a bit, and what prompted you to film up on that particular
roof? And what were the advantages and challenges of filming up there? And
some of your techinques to keep the location interesting throughout?

Well, it’s like I was saying
in my response to Question #2, I was inspired by those
miniature figures standing
high above me, looking down at all of the New Year’s
Eve party chaos, safe and
sound from their window; much like Cillian and Ellen
observing the devastation
beneath them albeit from a safe height. While I could
just as easily set the film in
the mosh pit of “zombies”, I felt that being up top
would provide a sense of
safety, control, and advantage, however faint those
realities might very well be.
As for the rooftop itself, I
have filmed the interior of my uncle’s body shop for at
least five films, and while I
could’ve easily set Canswerwithin
the walls of the
body shop, I felt that in
addition to the reasons stated above and the fact that I
wanted Cillian and Ellen to
have a certain (false) sense of freedom being
outdoors, I also just wanted
to try something new, to shift the perspective of those
who have become so accustomed
to the interior of the body shop, myself
included.
Filming on the rooftop
wasn’t a problem in terms of accessibility; the property
was controlled by my uncle. My
first and obvious concern was safety. There
were two ways of climbing atop
the rooftop: 1. climb a 25-foot ladder from the
side or rear of the body shop,
or 2. climb a 15-foot ladder to the sublevel of the
rooftop near the front, and
then climb another 10-foot ladder from the sublevel to
the main rooftop portion. I
opted for the second option (I would feel better falling
from a shorter height, though
once I was atop the main rooftop, it was all the
same). Once up there, I began
testing its strengths and weaknesses, which mainly
consisted of me jumping up and
down as hard as I could (and praying that I
wouldn’t suddenly visit my
uncle down below) and adding pressure to the two
skylights (and praying that I
wouldn’t shatter them, thus, sending shards my
uncle’s way down below).

Now, the body shop only
occupies one end of a multi-unit structure, so I needed
to have permission (which I
really didn’t ask for) to shoot over the entire expanse
of the rooftop, otherwise, we
would be confined to our corner (though this was the
case when it came to filming
the “zombie” scenes).

Being an industrial
neighbourhood, noise was most definitely a concern and,
sadly for Ryan A. Moore, our
production sound mixer, a harsh, high-decibel
reality. We were literally
surrounded by a wealth of auditory intrusions: there
were the mechanics revving
engines and banging away throughout the day (we
shot over a course of two and
a half weekends; therefore, Saturdays were a bit
loud at times, while Sunday
quieted down significantly); airplanes flew over and
around us (we were directly
underneath their flight path and minutes away from
the airport), which made it
not only a sonic nightmare, but a visual logistic issue
as the story absolutely needed
to depict Cillian and Ellen’s utter isolation; a busy
highway was minutes away in
the opposite direction of the airport; there was the
occasional horn-honking from
the coffee truck, which was not only distracting
sound-wise, but got my cast
and crew thinking about their stomachs.

Every angle that showed
minimal to no life or activity needed to be maximized
and favoured in order to,
again, support that isolated atmosphere that was so
imperative to the story. Low
angles were often employed and higher angles were
used sparingly. It never
ceased to amaze me how many cars actually drove along
the street immediately beneath
us and past the little slit of a laneway in the
background, how many
reflections the front windows of the businesses down
below caught, and how many
tiny, speck-like planes appeared out of nowhere
within the captured footage.

While there were scenes that
were most definitely planned in terms of visuals and
camera/actor blocking, many
times we improvised movement, and this was solely
to allow both characters to
move, behave, and interact with each other and the
environment organically. Jolts
in the camera, slightly off-timed focus-pulls, and
many other techniques were
purposely employed to ultimately minimalize a
staged feel. And I know that,
especially since the advent of The
Blair Witch Project,
filmmakers
scapegoat unintentional rocky footage as a creative choice,
but in the case of Canswer,
well…
the camera represents more than just the
audience…

Since the film contains a
number of scenes in which the characters are yelling,
there were a couple of
occasions in which people stopped to see what was up (at
which point I was inspired to
recreate a scene from Zack Synder’s
Dawn of the
Dead
and,
instead of creating and advertising a “People Inside” banner along the
side of the all, drop a
“It’s Okay, We’re Only Filming” sign over the side of the
rooftop).

We all know that the
weatherman/woman is right and wrong depending on our
needs, but whoever (or
whatever) was looking out for us sure did us a huge
favour. Aside from light rain
during the night before our GET INFECTED!
Zombie “Mombie” Day
(Sunday, May 13, 2012 was not only our “zombie”
shooting date, but also
Mother’s Day), we pretty much shot under a hot sun.

Do
talk about your cast for a bit, and why exactly these people?

I have collaborated with both
Robert Nolan [Robert Nolan
interview - click here] and Kelly-Marie Murtha on several
projects, whether I’m on set
as a writer/producer/director, or crewing for another
film in which they are
starring. Sarah Cunningham, as far as Arcilesi Films is
concerned, is the “new kid
on the block” (hopefully, I don’t get sued for using
that phrase).

Robert Nolan brings a level of
understanding, maturity, courage, and dedication
that not very many actors
possess (and honestly boast and/or wish that they did) in
the independent film
community. I remember way back when I was shooting my
third film, Scent of Rosemary;
I
was struggling to cast one of the three
lead roles (after several
“I-can-play-anything-but-I-just-read-your-script-and-I-won’t-play-that” actors
ultimately wasted my time), and I ended up contacting
Robert. He told me that he
would read the script and would contact me later on.

Of course, based on the slew
of negatives I already experienced, I felt that there
was a good chance that Robert
would also turn down the material. Well, he ended
up contacting me, asked me a
few questions (which was most likely his way of
auditioning me to see if I was
familiar even with my own material - the sign of a
smart actor!), and the rest of
cinematic history. But what I remember most about
working with Robert on Scent of Rosemary,
and
this is regardless of the
heavy subject matter, was his
propensity to challenge me; how his character
walked, talked, behaved,
motivations, and more. Every now and then, when I’m
writing a script, Robert
appears in a little shimmery thought bubble and I can hear
him questioning my choices in
an echoing voice (not always, but sometimes).
So here I go praising Robert,
spewing how much creative respect and trust I have
for him, having worked with
him on several projects, and now I’m going to tell
you that I still had him
audition for the role of Cillian in Canswer.
Why?

Many reasons, but one that
stands out is when Robert and I were walking down
the street having just left an
after party back in 2009, just after our award-winning God's Acre screened,
and just after he had won Best Actor; and what does he
tell me? – “Alfredo, you
don’t always have to cast me. You never know who’s
out there. Yes, I might be
good for the role, but someone might be
great
for the
role. That’s what auditions
are for.”

Now, I did post a casting call
for Canswer.
Usually,
for a low/no-budget
feature film, one might
receive tens of responses, which will exponentially
decrease for a multitude of
reasons, but for Canswer,
well…
I had never
experienced any response like
it. In the two weeks leading up to the auditions, I
had received well over 250
applications for the five existing roles. I had only
booked a 4-hour timeslot at
the audition space and would never be able to see
everyone. Well, there was no
need. After seeing close to 100 people within that
4-hour window, I didn’t have
to look any further than Sarah Cunningham. I have
said it to her and to others
before, and I’ll say it here so it’s in print: her voice
literally swept me away. Her
delivery, the nuances and inflections of her voice,
the soothing texture of her
storytelling… well, she could deliver my eulogy.
And I hope that I’m not
embarrassing her by sharing this little piece of trivia, but
during one of our many
conversations, Sarah had shared with me how tough it is
to succeed as an actress,
especially if one doesn’t look like and do what
Hollywood has brainwashed
audiences and aspiring and professional actresses
(and actors!) to look like and
do. I have a simple philosophy: if the performer
knows how to perform, if the
performer is intelligent enough to absorb and evoke
emotions via physical and
verbal means, if the performer is someone who I can
see as a representative of my
(which would become “our”) production/film, and I
can stand beside him/her
without a doubt or a shudder, then you just might be
cast; you can have all the
looks and ooze sexuality, but as far as my work is
concerned, I’m only going to
dirty you up anyway, so I don’t give a fuck about
that.

Plus, I don’t do casting
couches.

Kelly-Marie Murtha has learned
American Sign Language for my Lavender Fields and
a completely fictional alien language for my For
Clearer Skies (some of which we jokingly say
she improvised during the extensive take),
therefore, when someone puts
in that time and effort into not only learning
two languages foreign to her,
on top of the weight of the character I’ve thrown at
her, on top of whatever
craziness I come up with, well… she gets the role! Like
the rest of the cast, I’ve
become friends with Kelly, and she’s oftentimes been my
sounding board for matters in
life and love. Plus, I think she’s the only natural
redhead that I know (how
narcissistic of me).

I had directed Eric Hicks in
an unreleased web series and admired his natural
abilities as well as his
honest interest and curiosity with all things film and
performance. From our few
conversations, it’s easy to see that he is truly striving
to be not just a better
performer, but, most importantly, a better human being. It is
from this betterment that he
can apply himself to anything.

When I was on my way out of
elementary school, I had the option of attending a
brand new high school, one
that had yet to open its doors. Ultimately, I decided
to attend another high school
for their hockey program (another story for another
day), and never attended as a
pioneering student to that other high school. But,
several years later, my sister
did attend that high school, and a short while after
that, I attended as a member
of the audience for a show. My sister was in the
school band, and I did my
brotherly duty (by my own will, I swear!) to support
her. After her show, she
introduced me to a couple of her teachers and friends.
One friend a young kid named
Brian Quintero. We chatted briefly about film
since my sister told him that
I was a filmmaker (I hadn’t made a single thing by
that point, I’m sure of it;
or at least anything worth pointing out). And we all
know how these
“networking” events go, right? We dress up, hold a drink in one
hand, exchange and stare a few
extra seconds at the others’ business card so as to
not appear to be rude, talk
about how we’ll keep in contact, but, more than likely,
have never any intention of
doing so.

Well, in the case of Quintero
and Arcilesi, Brian walked into my audition for my
first feature film, Snow Angel,
back
in 2011. While I didn’t cast him for that
particular production (how
evil of me!), we gradually became close friends and
frequent collaborators on
projects such as Reality Check, Green Peaks and Valleys, Saviolum,
and, of course, Canswer.

What
can you tell us about the shoot as such, and the on-set atmosphere?

I cannot begin to count the
amount of times I’ve been labeled “Intimidating.”

While I have my own theories,
as do a handful of friends and family members, as
to why this is, I will say
that I will absolutely relegate you from an “is” to a “was”
if you so much as change your
breathing pattern around me.

No, I’m only kidding. I
can’t back that up. And, besides, that last bit was
actually Morgan Freeman’s
line of dialogue from the very cool Lucky Number Slevin.

In all honesty (and I am
always honest, for better or worse), in spite of the heavy
handed material I create, I
like to create and maintain a very lackadaisical
working environment (and I
probably shouldn’t even call it “work”). I am a huge
believer in respect,
intelligence, responsibility, trust, dedication, and leadership;
therefore, I try my damn best
to be a respectful, intelligent, trustworthy, and
dedicated leader. I am very in
tune with my cast and crew, and can oftentimes
sense when there’s an energy
shift, and why that energy shift is taking place. And
I have no qualms with
admitting when I’m wrong (the last time I accidentally cut
my finger I bled red, so that
makes me human!). Canswer
was
so much fun! Since we shot over the course of two and a half weekends at my uncle’s body
shop, and since it was located quite a distance from where any of us lived, I setup
a sort of camp where each cast and crew member
would each take a vehicle in
the body shop, and use it as their own personal hotel
room.

As with most film sets, when
you’re working with any number of people for any
number of hours/days, you tend
to come up with antics. I’m not sure if it was due
to working under the hot sun,
but at one point we each began to speak in different
dialects and accents; I think
I was Russian at one point!

I think it’s safe to say,
however, that the absolute best and most memorable time
we all had was on Sunday, May
13, 2012. This was our GET INFECTED!
Zombie “Mombie” Day (as I
mentioned earlier, it also happened to be Mother’s
Day). We had close to 100
friends and complete strangers (who have now
become friends, and most of us
remain in contact to this day) come on out and
play The Infected for the day.
I had setup a big screen TV in the body shop,
which played the original
Dawn of the Dead
and
28 Days Later,
complete
with a
bunch chairs for viewing, and
a table full of food and drink. We created a sort of
“zombie” car wash, but
instead of getting cleaned, our wardrobe (Perin Westerhof
Nyman) and special makeup
effects team (headed by Carlos Henriques and Ryan
Louagie of The Butcher
Shop)
“zombified” everyone with blood, dirt, torn
clothing, guts, and all kinds
of gore. One of the coolest moments was when some
of those who brought their
vehicles actually volunteered to have their vehicles
bloodied up for our scenes.
Everyone was snapping pictures and coming up with
some of the worst (and by
“worst,” I mean “best!”) zombie puns; I was amazed by
the amount of fan-made posters
that resulted from this, which was a first for me.

A highlight was when I
announced that the first “zombie” to reach the far fence
(as seen in the film) would
receive a raffle prize (yes, I also handed out a dozen or
so zombie-related raffle
prizes as a way of thanking everyone for being a part of the film). The media was
present, including local publications and Kelly Michael Stewart of Fangoria
Magazine,
who not only interviewed some of the cast and crew, but participated, along
with his mother, as a member of the Infected Horde.

The look on Ryan A. Moore’s
face (our production sound mixer) when I called
“Action!” for the very
first “zombie” scene was priceless. His head just popped
up from looking down at the
recorder, and he just looked at me with the widest of
smiles; it was the absolute
first time that we had any idea of what it truly felt and
sounded like to have a mass of
The Infected down below. It was eerie and cool.
I remember squatting at the
edge of the rooftop, knowing that after a day’s worth
of filming The Infected that I
was entering the last take I would need with them.
At the risk of sounding
cheesy, I looked down at everyone; they were all so
energetic, supportive, and I
wondered what George A. Romero felt when he was
creating his zombie
extravaganzas!

What
can you tell us about audience and critical reception of your film so far
- and any idea when and where Canswer
will be released onto a general audience?

As of this writing, Canswer
has
only been reviewed by a trio of reviewers, all
of whom have said exactly what
I had felt and had hoped for with regards to the
performances, its feel, and,
I’m proud to say, its originality. It is currently being
submitted to film festivals,
and, along with my cast, crew, and The Infected, I
have very high expectations
for this film, especially after a very successful
festival run with For Clearer
Skies,
which
is sort of a companion piece to Canswer.

Any future projects you'd like to share?

I’m currently in
postproduction for a pair of short films: Green Peaks and Valleys
and Saviolum,
as I’ve come to realize, will act as companion
pieces to one another.

Mnemophobia: Fear of Memories is an episode of the TV/web series
In Fear of
I
had the pleasure of writing and directing for creator Scott W. Perry [Scott
W. Perry interview - click here] and company in Long Island;
that is also in postproduction.

Last, but certainly not least,
I am one week away (as of this writing) from entering
auditions for the third
feature film from Arcilesi Films
titled Usher, the Usher.

I humbly invite everyone to
GET INFECTED! (sorry, that was our marketing
slogan for our “Zombie” Day) by staying connected and checking out,
bookmarking, liking,
commenting on, and sharing any and all of the following
links: